


Coalesce

by FleetingDesires



Series: Love Me Freely [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27235897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetingDesires/pseuds/FleetingDesires
Summary: A visit home draws up old hurts, old wounds, and unresolved issues between our favourite brothers, even as Mummy and Father Holmes grapple with the news of their sons' relationship. Will they be able to fix it, and come out stronger for it?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Series: Love Me Freely [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986172
Comments: 17
Kudos: 38





	Coalesce

**Author's Note:**

> Direct sequel to _An Anniversary to Remember_ , chapter 5.

"Hello, Father," Mycroft said, as the door was opened. "May we come in?"

Siger looked at the two of them, drifting down to their joined hands before he met Mycroft's eyes again. "No," he said. As the look on Sherlock's face turned murderous – _Alright, maybe a bad time for a joke_ — he quickly added, "You haven't brought your bags. Hurry now, I'll wait."

Mycroft blinked. "Yes, of course. I'll go and get it. Sherlock, you head in. No need for the both of us to be out in the cold."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at him.

After a beat of confusion, Mycroft groaned. "I didn't mean it like _that_ , brother dear. Stay on the cold and snowy porch if you insist."

Siger looked on in amusement as Sherlock's internal battle didn't seem to be resolving itself. "Oh, just come in, son, I'm sure Mycroft isn't going to just leave right now."

 _How do you know_? Sherlock immediately thought. It seems the scars from battles long won were still affecting him, that despite a ring wrapped tightly around his finger, he was still unable to shake the feeling that Mycroft would change his mind at any moment. Turning around to watch his brother instead of meeting his father's keen gaze, he said softly, "I'm surer that he would, if he thought it would be for the best for me. So if you don't mind, I think I'll stay right here."

Siger furrowed his brow as he watched Sherlock train his gaze on Mycroft. "What difference does it make to stay on the porch?"

"A scared Mycroft is likely to run. Being here shows him that it would be futile, because I _will_ catch him if he bolts."

After a moment, Siger gently said, "But what if him leaving really is what's best for you?"

Mycroft had started to head back to them now, so Sherlock raised his voice such that Mycroft would be sure to hear it. Still looking at Mycroft, he said, "Then he simply has to rise to the task of being the best for me, or change the question altogether, because I'm not letting go now that I've got what I want." He reached out for his bag when Mycroft reached the porch. Turning back to face his father, he said, "Now, are we coming in?"

Siger's eyes widened in stunned silence for a moment, before he quickly nodded. "Yes, yes. Come find your mother and I in the kitchen when you've put your things away. Um." He paused for a moment before forging ahead. "Both your rooms are made up, but you can sort yourselves out."

Mycroft's failed to stop his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Quickly regaining his composure, he said, "Yes, well. Thank you, Father. We will join you in fifteen minutes."

As Siger turned to walk away, Sherlock shot Mycroft a cheeky grin. Heading up the stairs, he said, "So, brother, your room or mine?"

" _Sherlock._ "

"What?" He stood between their two doors that were across the hall from one another. "It's a legitimate question."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "If you truly have no preference, I think mine would be less likely to have strange chemical burns and therefore more aesthetically appealing."

Sherlock shrugged, entering Mycroft's room first and dropping his bag by the cupboard. He lounged on the bed as he watched Mycroft start to unpack. After a couple of minutes with no attention, he pouted. "Mycroft."

"Yes?" Came the distracted reply, as clothes continued to come out of his bag.

Sherlock arranged himself in the most lascivious position he could think of, and tried again. "Mycroft."

"What is it…" The annoyed tone quickly faded off as Mycroft took in the enchanting sight of Sherlock in his teenage bed. While he had never lusted after Sherlock as a teen, he remembered far too many nights fantasising about doing all manner of things on that bed, and now Sherlock was right _there_ , draped across it like silk.

"You can't do that right now," Mycroft said, horrified at hearing the breathy quality of his voice. He gave his body a stern talking-to, convincing his blood to flow in the proper direction. "We have to be down soon."

"I've always wanted to have sex in your bed," Sherlock threw out nonchalantly as Mycroft's heart pounded.

He clutched the garment bag he was holding to his chest. "I'm sure we'll get around to that, but not right now, Sherlock, for god's sake!" Mycroft hissed. Despite himself, he felt an erection forming as he took a few steps towards Sherlock, who was now grinning mischievously.

"It really is a pity you only gave us fifteen minutes–"

"That was to prevent you from doing exactly this–"

"But I think we could still have some fun with the ten we have left." He ripped the garment bag out of Mycroft's hands, running his hands up Mycroft's torso to his chest, and back down to rest at his belt.

Mycroft sucked in a sharp breath as Sherlock quickly undid his trousers. He tunnelled his fingers through Sherlock's curls as his now fully hard cock was drawn out. As Sherlock licked his lips, Mycroft growled, "Yes, alright, but you'd better catch it all, pet, as we can't have any evidence left behind."

Sherlock winked as he set to work, licking his shaft and tonguing at his frenulum. When he finally took Mycroft into his mouth, he took him to the root in one smooth move. Mycroft whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut. As Sherlock started to move, his hand shot out blindly, grasping onto a bed poster.

He opened his eyes again, groaning as he watched his cock disappear between Sherlock's lips. He moved to place a thumb against Sherlock's cheek, his excitement rising exponentially as he felt his cock moving inside his mouth. Sherlock was working him expertly, in and out at the perfect pace, and Mycroft just held on for the ride, whispering soft words of encouragement as he felt his orgasm drawing closer. When he felt Sherlock's throat swallow around him, he gripped on to Sherlock's hair and growled. "I'm going to come, Sherlock," he said, before thrusting into him once, twice, his vision whiting out as Sherlock moaned around him.

True to his word, Sherlock swallowed every last drop that Mycroft gave him, working his throat until Mycroft became oversensitive and begged for him to stop. Sherlock grinned as he pulled off, cleaning Mycroft with a handkerchief before tucking him back in to his pants.

Mycroft ran his thumb against Sherlock's puffy lips and leaned down for a deep kiss, enjoying tasting himself in Sherlock's mouth. Drawing away, he said, "Thank you for an excellent blowjob, darling, regardless of how ill-advised it was. I'm only sorry I won't be able to reciprocate. Also, I think we may fail at being discreet, as your lips are somewhat of a giveaway."

Sherlock shrugged as he looked at Mycroft's watch. "You'll make it up to me later. We'll just be down five minutes late, and that will have to be enough time for it to be less incriminating."

"This is not the best way to introduce ourselves as a couple to our parents, you know." Mycroft sighed as he sat next to Sherlock, drawing him in for a cuddle.

Sherlock laughed as he leaned on Mycroft. "I'm afraid there is no good way to do that. Besides, they seem to be accepting of it, seeing as we've been invited in. Take heart, brother mine."

"Yes, alright." Mycroft stood, smoothing down his suit and ensuring he was presentable. Reaching out a hand to Sherlock, he said, "As long as I have you, it will be enough."

Sherlock met him in a gentle kiss. "That is what I have been trying to tell you all day. It has always been enough. Now, let's get some biscuits and tea."

**

The Holmes family sat down to what felt like the most awkward tea of their lives, sharing the small table in the kitchen. They each sat staring at the steam rising from their cups, until Mummy Holmes broke the silence. "Well, boys." Sherlock and Mycroft snapped to attention. She offered them a weak smile. "You've certainly given your father and I quite a shock today. I… don't know quite how I feel about…about the two of you being a couple yet, but I'm willing to spend a nice Christmas without my boys arguing over the dinner table. Could you give us some time to get used to the idea? I'm not opposed just yet, but just…" She stalled, and looked pleadingly across the table at her husband.

Siger sighed, fidgeting in his seat. "What your mother is trying to say is to keep your affections to a minimum, if you can oblige us that. We don't want to stifle you, and I, at least, would like this home to eventually be a safe space for the two of you in case something happens and you need to leave London. But you need to give us more time to think and be okay with seeing you as more than brothers."

Mycroft, who had a faint blush this entire time, looked confusedly at Sherlock for a second as he tried to parse his father's words. Finally, he understood. "Of course, we can certainly do that. Or not, as the case may be. As for being a safe space, I am…grateful beyond words that you would offer, Father. But please do not worry. Some months ago I had arranged for… certain laws to be changed. The relationship that we have is not illegal." As he spoke, he twisted the ring on his finger beneath the dinner table.

Sherlock had been doing the same the entire conversation; at Mycroft's words, he couldn't help but slide his gaze over to him, smiling fondly as he remembered the events of the day.

Mummy and Father both let out silent sighs of relief at this news. Violet looked over at Sherlock. "Do you have anything to say, Sherlock? Seems everyone has had a go except you, which seems a tad unusual," she smiled wryly.

Sherlock grinned. "What else is there to say? Besides, of course, that worrywart over there is going to need an extra serving of trifle to compensate for the stress." He rolled his eyes at the death glare he received from Mycroft. Finally, he huffed, "Brother dear, how I am unable to reach you across this extremely small table is quite astonishing. Will you please shuffle over so I can hold you hand under the table?"

The faint flush across Mycroft's cheek became more vibrant, spreading to the tips of his ears as he darted his eyes towards his parents. "Go on," Mummy said, amused at her son's sudden shyness. Lord knows, she would have expected people reckless enough to enter into incestuous relationships to be brasher than this.

Sherlock did hold Mycroft's hand all through tea, though with the vise grip Mycroft had on it, it was unlikely he'd have been unable to retrieve it even if he wanted to. However, as he stood up to head towards the library, Mycroft suddenly let go.

Mycroft jumped when Sherlock placed a hand on his shoulder. He let his hand slide off. "Are you coming?"

"In a bit, Sherlock. I'm just going to get some air." He smiled feebly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, before he simply raised his hand, palm side up.

Mycroft stared at it, then back at Sherlock. "What do you– oh, _honestly_." He fished his keys from his pocket, slapping it into his palm. "I'm not going to run away."

"Then it's not a problem, is it?" He caressed the back of Mycroft's neck in lieu of a kiss, ignoring that he stiffened under his touch. When he reached the library, he didn't pull down a book. Instead, he sat in the biggest, cosiest wingback chair, and contemplated.

**

Dinner had them sat next to each other in their usual places. Also usual, was the fact that Mummy and Father were carrying the conversation. What was unusual was that Mycroft stayed silent where he would usually chime in with helpful information or insights, leaving Sherlock to pick up the conversational slack. He was bored with the conversation, irritated that he was forced to pay attention to it, and above all, _furious_ that through it all, Mycroft had twitched away or stiffened at the slightest touch from him.

Sherlock put his knife down carefully, carefully reciting in his mind: _I love this man very much, and I do not want to see a knife in his head. I love this man very much, and I do not want to stab him with my own knife. I love this man very much…._

But as luck would have it, Mycroft stiffened again at a purely incidental, unintentional graze of his hand, and Sherlock exploded. "Alright, Mycroft. You have been silent and jumpy, and just all around ridiculous tonight. What is going on?"

Mycroft darted his eyes to his parents' concerned looks, and then down to his plate. "I… nothing. I just don't want to make things awkward for anyone, that's all."

"You're _being_ awkward, Mycroft, everyone else is perfectly fine."

Mycroft darted his eyes to his parents again. "My apologies." He turned to meet Sherlock's eyes for a second before sliding his gaze away. "I'll do better."

For a while, Mycroft successfully engaged in brief snippets of conversation, but he still kept jumping at Sherlock's touch. Finally, Sherlock burst from his seat, his chair making an awful screeching noise against the floor. "For the love of god, Mycroft, I'm trying to communicate with you, not jump you at the dinner table. Will you snap out of it and stop treating me like I'm a dirty little secret that you have to hide? Or is this just some tawdry affair, only to be flaunted in order to fuck with people's heads in your stupid political games?"

"Of course not!" Mycroft shouted, getting up as well. "How could you even suggest that?"

"I don't know, maybe because you had absolutely no problems with cuddling up to me in front of ambassadors, palace officials, and international intelligence officers, but in our parents' home, suddenly I can't even touch your hand unless it's beyond the sight of dear Mummy and Father?" Sherlock spat out.

"The opinions of people at that party would have had no impact on our relationship!"

"And our parents do? You would give me up if they disapproved?" Sherlock said incredulously. At Mycroft's silence, he said, "I cannot believe we are still having this fight, after all this time. Parse the new information, brother. Your actions are completely irrational in the face of the diminishing chances of your fears actually coming true. All you've succeeded in doing is making me wonder what more I can do to make you see how much I love you, because I swear to Mendelssohn, Mycroft, you're acting like the last three years haven't happened, and all you know of my love is from the words on a page."

Sherlock reached for his own hand to slip off his ring. As stunned as he was, Mycroft was too late to stop it from happening, but he held on to Sherlock's left hand anyway. "No, please don't do this, Sherlock, please put it back on," Mycroft pleaded as his eyes filled with panic and tears.

"No. You hang on to it. When you gave me this ring, you said that it was because you were sure that I loved you as much as you did me. I see now that we both had it wrong. It is you that has to love as hard as I do, because I would give up the whole world for you. I don't want this ring to be a promise to give me the world, Mycroft; my big brother will gladly do that for me. But he wouldn't give up the world for me, because then he wouldn't be able to protect me. What I want and need is a lover that would. Give this to me again when you can promise me that."

Mycroft folded the ring, and Sherlock's hand, into one of his own, before pressing it to his own heart. "I love you," he whispered desperately.

"I know, My." Sherlock reached up, running his hand soothingly across the back of his head. "You have been the best big brother, but I need you to be my lover now. Choose to be that person first and foremost, Mycroft. And you know, I am not breaking up with you; you still wear my promise and I don't want it back. We're just redrawing the lines." Sherlock pressed a soft kiss to his lips, while Mycroft clung on to his hand.

Eventually, he slipped his hand away from Mycroft, and made his way out of the room. Along the way, he paused by his father's chair, whispering to him. He noticed that his mother was crying softly, but said nothing of it before he left.

Mycroft sank to the ground where he had stood, his hand still tightly clutched around Sherlock's ring. He simply sat there and cried, hugging his knees to his chest, trying to contain the pain in his chest. After a while, familiar arms came around him, and he could do nothing more than to bury his face in his mother's familiar scent and accept her comfort.

She sat there, cradling her eldest son. and waited for him to exhaust himself of tears. When they were finally winding down, she stroked his hair, saying softly, "It will be alright, Mycroft. It will be alright. I don't claim to understand how it happened between brothers, buteven I can see that your love for each other is real and so undeniable. It must be so hard for you; I've told you all your life that you must look after Sherlock, and there he is, asking what seems like the exact opposite of you.

"But let me tell you something. Loving him as a man doesn't mean you have to stop protecting him, or stop trying to give him the world. What a ridiculous dichotomy to draw. No, what he wants is for you to choose him when it matters, and that's the best way you can protect him, Mycroft. He will be made stronger because of your choice, and that is a protection in itself. It is also the only way you can give him the world, because I believe you are his world, Mycroft. You have been his world even before he recognised the concept. Let him be your strength, as well as your world, too."

Mycroft sniffled, and pushed himself upright. He looked into her eyes, and asked, "Do you truly think so, Mummy? That it will be alright?"

"Of course I do. You are both so smart, so headstrong, so passionate. Nothing can stand against the two of you if you work together. In fact, I regularly thank myself for doing at least something right that you two are on the side of the angels, otherwise, who knows what sort of chaos would now reign in the world." Mycroft let out a watery laugh, and Mummy smiled as she wiped the last of the tears off his face.

"Do you know where he is?"

"In the library with your father, I believe. But if you're intending to look for him, you'd better splash some cold water on your face first. You are terribly splotchy right now and although you want to look properly wretched and contrite, there's no need to add unattractive to that mix."

" _Mother,_ please." Mycroft groaned, burying his face in his hands.

" _Mycroft_ , please. I did not think I would be ending my day giving my eldest advice on wooing his own brother. Forgive me for trying to do it well. May as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, I say."

Mycroft leaned in to give her a kiss on her cheek. "Thank you, Mummy. I really do appreciate this."

"I know. Now, go. I'll draw your father away."

Mycroft nodded, taking several long moments in the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror, and thought of what he could say to Sherlock. Eventually, he made his way to the library.

Sherlock turned towards him when he heard him slip in. Only very rarely had he seen Mycroft this uncertain, and his heart ached a little at the sight. Extending a hand towards him, he said, "Come here, my darling."

"Am I still? Your darling?" Mycroft approached cautiously, taking his hand in a gentle clasp.

"Always, My."

Mycroft kissed the back of Sherlock's hand. "I'm sorry for how I've acted tonight. It wasn't fair to you, or tous. When we are in London, or really anywhere else but here, I have been unafraid. I have been able to trust you to hold your own, to trust myself to act appropriately and fairly to you. But here, surrounded by all these memories, remembering all the years of our childhood, it has been hard to see myself as anything besides your brother. Not when every memory has been laced with the caution I always looked at you with, my fearless boy who loved to make things go boom." He smiled wryly. "I'm afraid in all of that I have lost sight of my commitment to you. To be your partner. To share in your life as an equal, and not as the annoying older brother who requires control in all things.

"My darling, I love you beyond all reason, and I wish for nothing more than to be known, to myself, you, and the rest of the world, as your partner. Please forgive me. Help me to make new memories here.

"Sherlock, I promise you that from this point on, I will choose us over anything else in this world. I will lend you my strength and fight the world with you. I promise that never again will I think there could be a world in which you would be better off without me; we've been down that path and the height of idiocy is doing it again expecting it to be different. I promise that I will mould the world to fit us, and never the other way around."

Sherlock's eyes sparkled as he nodded, before he flung himself at Mycroft. Gripping his head between both of his hands, Sherlock pressed his lips firmly to Mycroft's, licking at his lips and demanding entrance immediately. Mycroft's hands flew to his hips, gripping him tightly.

Mycroft crushed Sherlock to him, pouring out his apology, relief, and love into the kiss. Almost subconsciously, he swung them around until Sherlock was pressed back against the nearest bookcase, his own body as close to him as it could get.

Sherlock snuck his hands under Mycroft's jacket, desperate to get closer to skin, pushing himself into Mycroft at the same time. Frustrated at finding all too many layers, he finally tugged Mycroft away, breathing heavily as he pressed his forehead against him.

"I love you beyond reason, too," he murmured. He kissed Mycroft across his face, pausing to nibble at his jaw. "Beyond all reason and sense, I love you."

"I know, my heart. You show me in everything you do." He watched his own thumb travel across Sherlock's cheekbone. "Will you please, please wear my ring again?"

"Mycroft." He cupped his cheek. "I will wear it with pride. Only, tell me that you know I will never leave you regardless of whether I do."

"Yes, my darling. I do know that. I am simply a possessive man, and this is more civilised than leaving you marked up for everyone to see." He slipped the ring back on Sherlock's finger, holding on to his hand. "There. All is right in our world now."

"Nothing but sunshine and rainbows in our future, I'm sure."

"Oh, did you have a sudden hankering to leave England?"

" _My._ " Sherlock hugged Mycroft tightly to him. "Oh, I'm so glad I don't have to be extra nice to you anymore."

"Though, this is very nice indeed," he mumbled into Sherlock's hair.

"Let's try and do better than that," Sherlock whispered, and nipped at Mycroft's earlobe.

**

The next morning, Mycroft, Mummy, and Father were deep in conversation over breakfast when Sherlock ambled in, an hour late. He made a beeline for Mycroft, perching on the arm of his chair as he leaned heavily against him. Stealing his tea, he groused, "This is altogether too early an hour for breakfast while I'm on holiday."

Mycroft blushed prettily, but quirked a brow. "Good morning to you, too, Sherlock. Might you sit in an unoccupied chair like a civilised person?"

"In a moment," Sherlock said, continuing to sip at his purloined tea.

Mycroft sighed. He looked up at Sherlock, then drifted his gaze to his parents, who seemed not to object to this peculiar state of affairs, and in fact was looking rather fondly at them. Looking back at Sherlock, he thought of his promises, and came to a decision. He moved his arm to place it around Sherlock, letting his hand come to rest comfortably on the inside of his knee.

Sherlock beamed into his teacup, while Siger made a small choking sound. As everyone looked concernedly over, Siger sputtered, still wracked with coughs, "No, don't mind me, carry on, just down the wrong pipe," he indicated his tea. The brothers raised a brow at this, but said nothing. After a few moments, Violet piped up, "Well, it's lovely that you boys have patched things up, but I'm rather concerned for the state of my chair. You're not five anymore, Sherlock. Do sit properly."

Sherlock scowled, and he thought furiously for all of five seconds before he said, "Actually, Mummy, given that–"

" _Darling_. You've had your snuggle and all of my tea. Please cease being difficult."

"But you find it so endearing, My," Sherlock smirked. At the look on his brother's face, he slid off the armrest. "Oh, _fine_. Wouldn't want to offend anyone's sensibilities any longer." He rolled his eyes as he dramatically plopped himself into a chair. "Happy?"

"Or a close approximation thereof. Would baby like more tea?" Mycroft rejoined, sliding a new, steaming cup of tea over to Sherlock.

As Sherlock's eyes flashed with challenge, Violet leaned over to Siger, and murmured, "I really had hoped, for a brief moment, that this non-stop bickering would have abated."

Siger watched on, amused, as he responded. "The more things change, the more they stay the same."

They shook their heads at the same time, basking in the familiar sounds of their bickering sons, the ripostes now noticeably un-barbed, laced with affection and not venom. They smiled at each other and resumed their morning routine, simply happy to have their boys home for Christmas once again.

**Author's Note:**

> It is DONE. My muse is on fire these days.
> 
> Let me know what you think! xxx


End file.
